


What We Become

by LadySlothbottom



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Mentions of Cancer, Past Relationship(s), Politics, References to Depression, Slow Burn, Stabbing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 05:23:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11029512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlothbottom/pseuds/LadySlothbottom
Summary: You are his only salvation, and he, your undoing.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys have time, please send me constructive feedback. I haven't written anything in a couple of years or so. I'm rusty.
> 
> Chapter 2 to follow very shortly since most of it's already been written.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin. Deliberately vague, and a pretty graphic depiction of what it might be like to bleed out.

The first time you had saved someone’s life, you were nine years old, freckle-faced and excited by what the world had to offer. Adrenaline can bring even a kid to crack ribs whilst performing CPR if the person in danger happens to be their own mother. She still takes the occasional dig at you for it to this day, only half-joking after they took a while to heal. Yourself and your classmates been taught basic lifesaving skills in primary school just a few weeks prior which, clearly, had proven useful. It didn’t go to your head when the incident made local news, but instead made you even more reclusive. The shy kid became even shyer. Since then, you wanted to join the field of medicine and pursue its noble pathways, dwindling communication skills or no, preferably in a quiet lab away from everyone. Prevention rather than cure had always been your speciality, however, and you were decidedly destined for a much more hands-on adventure. Funny how life just _happens_ to people. You'd been idly following the script; at least up until this precise moment in time.

At this precise moment in time, you’re watching a man die. You’re watching a man die and doing nothing at all about it. A corner of your mouth curls. Are you enjoying this? You're enjoying this.  
  
His life is relentlessly pissing out of the wounds in his chest and abdomen. He isn’t certain whether to grasp at the wounds or at you, but decides that a futile attempt at stemming the flow is perhaps his better option. Still, he doesn’t have long.

What you’re witnessing goes against every fibre of morality you was constructed to adhere to, as well as the entirety of the Oath you took when becoming an EMT. Unfortunately, you weren’t academically gifted nor wealthy enough to be sat in that aforementioned lab. Now, you feel something burning in the back of your mind willing you to take action; _anything_ to try and save this person’s life. The dying man sputters, collapsing, with blood dribbling down his cheek and onto the concrete. Dying this way sure looks like hell. You catch yourself still smirking, inhaling the hot scent of iron.

Eyeing him a while longer as he gasps and twitches, porcelain-pale and losing the battle, he takes one final glance in your direction. Honestly, it’s hard to tell whether he’s actually regarding you or succumbing to his throes. Finally, he falls silent, soaking in a pool of his own blood like one would a bath after a particularly bad work shift, sans scented candles and James Blunt CD, or whatever it was normal people did to unwind. Your smirk remains, shifting to an open-mouthed chuckle as you realise how much of a shame it is that this poor bastard would never be subject to James Blunts’ demonic shrilling ever again. He was the worst thing ever to happen to music this century, and the blood-drenched corpse at your feet was the worst thing ever to happen to you.

You drop the knife and walk away.

 

 


	2. Clue In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel shares a hot mug of cocoa and some information with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 4.30am. I can't function anymore. Time for bed.
> 
> EDIT: I've been thinking about how I'm going to add more plot to this story and have resultantly changed the ending of this chapter a tad. Feels like it adds a little more substance and isn't flip-flopping quite so much. There are probably still a few typos and grammatical errors here and there which I'll fix at a later date.
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Midwinter drills were the worst, especially when you were the one calling them.  The Commander sent everyone out in all weathers for training, seemingly indifferent about the idea of you all being normally-functioning human beings with normally-functioning bodies, at least for the most part. Whatever he had had pumped into him during the pre-Overwatch Enhancement Program had him running a few degrees hotter than everyone else. That was his knowledge of ‘normal’, at least, and all of your clinical prowess suggested that the trial was the only cause. Yet, less than six months ago, he’d insist on wearing his hoodie at all times of the day. You supposed he had multiples of the same. Either that or he didn't sweat anymore.

The Program was classified, but once word got out it had spread like wildfire. Rumours have a habit of doing such things, especially when your department is so close-knit. Blackwatch was known for secrecy and covert dealings, but amongst your merry band of miscreants, mercenaries and the occasional vigilante, that meant everyone knew everything about everyone else. It was pure luck that the details had remained secret for so long, although you’d known after a single sweep of Commander Reyes’ medical history.

Some feared Commander Reyes for having undergone the procedure, knowing of his and Strike Commander Morrison’s incredible abilities. You admired him for having gone through with the Program, untested and uncertain. You also admired him for putting up with this most recent wave of potential assets, fresh-faced for the larger part; the ones who likely wouldn’t make the cut. They were more suitable beneath someone like Morrison, perhaps. Hell, you mused that some of them might even _remind_ him of Morrison. That was an amusing picture; a line of Morrisons paraded before a fierce-tempered Reyes, who’d love nothing more than to deck each and every one of them in the jaw.

Of course that was against protocol, but as of late you believed he’d do it if only he could. Reyes was certainly a jealous man. They’d be the first to go.

As the group came to a reluctant halt before you, having strangely enjoyed doing laps in the yard as their only method of retaining body heat, you decided to allow them a hot shower before time. Reyes was a stickler for routine and would have something to say, no doubt, but you weren’t feeling confident in most of these newcomers and it was apparent. Only a couple had shown any promise, and you were more concerned with returning to active duty. Babysitting had grown tiresome.

Tiny flecks of white carried on a light breeze as you all headed indoors, thankful for the building’s immediate warmth. HQ in winter was a sight to behold, preferably inside and beneath a blanket. You headed towards your Commanders’ office with some deliberate slowness, hoping that the seconds would tick by in time with your staggered steps rather than at its own infinite pace. He'd been reclusive as of late, and it was making for poor morale. Formalities made you nervous enough, even when speaking to someone as close to you as Reyes had become over the years.

A nameplate read ‘B013 – Commander G. Reyes’. You dubiously rapped at the door, and it hissed open.

‘Agent. You’re early,’ a familiar if tired voice came from behind a translucent blue screen, blurring the image of the man sat gawking at it. Surveillance recordings, notifications and what looked like a music video flashed in and out of existence as he tapped the keyboard.

‘Commander Reyes. The recruits aren’t particularly…’

‘I know. Don’t worry about the recruits,’ he cut you off. ‘We’ve got more important things to talk about. Cocoa?’ You had expected him to be grumpy, to give you an earful, but now Reyes stood away from the desk and trailed over to a steaming kettle. He poured out two mugs of drinking chocolate and handed one to you, before beckoning that you take a seat. ‘How was the MRI?’

 _The MRI_. You didn’t know how to respond initially, eyeing the foam in your mug whilst you collected yourself.

‘So-so. It’s still there, but stable. I’m no longer on anti-seizure meds, but Dr. Ziegler can’t guarantee that it will ever reduce further, or that it won’t regrow.’

Gabriel ran a hand through his beard with a knitted brow. ‘That’s… well, to be perfectly frank that fucking sucks. Are you cleared yet?’

‘Nah. Still waiting on another set of bloods and some paperwork. Wish I could clear myself.’

‘I hear you. Though it’d be pretty messed up if you landed with another bleed. And here we were thinking that cancer was a thing of the past. I heard about your ma, too. Reckon it’s hereditary? Eh…’ he checked himself for a moment, ‘sorry... I’m sorry. I'm rambling. This is some really personal stuff.’

You chuckled, shrugging. ‘It's cool. If all I did was mope I wouldn’t be sitting in this cosy office, sipping hot cocoa with such a fine specimen and tending to in-house injuries between calling training sessions. Much more preferable.’

‘Usually I take a nap, drink or hit the gym for a while. Glad you're not letting it beat you, kid. Life's a bitch at the best of times... did you just call me a _specimen_?’ He grinned. 'Nerd'.

"Nerd" had become your pet name, as much as he actually respected you.

‘If you don’t mind me saying, Commander Reyes, I didn’t take you for a hot cocoa kind of guy.’

And then came a hearty laugh, the kind that sent your chest aflutter. He was handsome when he had a smile on his face. ‘If you’re looking for marshmallows, try Jack’s office. Sure the place is teeming.’

The difficulties between your own Commander and Strike Commander Morrison were palpable. In fact, you'd heard that he and Reyes had almost come to blows after one particularly heated discussion, but everybody’s favourite cowboy had stepped in and calmed his mentor down by taking him out for drinks. It was like the Morrison-recruit scenario you'd pictured earlier in the day playing out in front of everyone. You didn’t know if Reyes had been disciplined, let alone Jack, or if things were crumbling so much around Headquarters that nobody important enough had batted an eyelid. Besides, who was there to cuff either of them if the matter was taken higher? The UN was already up everybody's backside at Headquarters. Nobody wanted them poking around even more. 

You didn’t want to remind him that things were beginning to come apart at the seams, but McCree had opened up to you about your Commander’s mindset as of late. Mentally, he was going downhill, and on his own missions was taking unnecessary risks. He’d been in the med bay much more regularly than what would otherwise be normal, and you’d occasionally tended to his wounds. Jesse was beginning to feel genuine concern, and concern didn’t always come easily to such a happy-go-lucky man. 

As resident First Response Field Medic, Blackwatch was much less sizeable than the main body of Overwatches’ cohort, so you’d been using your time away for treatment to spend time brushing up on how to actually _speak_ to people; thoughts, feelings, and how to be open about them.You listened to your doctors, your nurses, particularly Angela, and tried to study what it meant to have some form of bedside manner that might translate to the everyday. It kept you busy, and right now you felt it might be useful. Perhaps the knowledge wasn’t worth so much, but the division was lacking, and you found yourself on the receiving end of a lot of emotional outpour from patients with problems which ran deeper than skin.

‘All jokes aside, Sir,’ you began sensitively, ‘McCree was hoping I would speak to you. Some of the things he’s been telling me are… well, worrying.’ You worried at your mug, hoping not to sound too awkward. Reyes’ mug had been brought to his lips, but now he was pausing. You could almost see the cogs turning in his head.

‘Right...’ he took a decent gulp of the steaming liquid.  
  
‘We want you to know that you can speak to us. Forget rank and niceties and whatever for a second; you took us under your wing and you helped us when shit had royally hit the fan, Gabe. You were there for both of us when we needed you, and you deserve the same.’  
  
‘You don’t need to worry about me.’

‘It's a little late for that.’

He took another gulp before placing the mug on the table, casually leaning back in his chair with both arms wrapping across his chest. You noted his downward gaze and its intensity. He may have been the Commanding Officer of a covert division – _your_ Commander – but there was no doubting that there was something he wished to get off of his chest. Around the people he cared about, he let his guard drop.

‘You noticed the cutbacks we’ve been faced with lately?’ his eyes were unmoving. ‘Jack went and fucked up a few high-profile missions. Got a lot of guys in trouble; politically, physically, you name it. People lost lives, lost money, lost status and ground in socio-political endeavours. Moreover, people lost patience with us very, very quickly.’

‘I was on surveillance for some of those missions, sat at the Comms Desk with him when you were in the field.’

Gabriel nodded, finally looking up, through you rather than at you. ‘I’ve made some bad calls in my time, sure, but he outright screwed us over. The amount of agents we lost was ludicrous. Good people died, all because he wasn’t willing to get out there and recover them, or because he was too proud to do anything that would upset the higher ups. Trust me, we have higher ups, and most of them are wealthy assholes who just happen to work for government sectors.’ His expression darkened, deepened, the lines around his eyes prominent. ‘Guess who made the effort to stop the shitstorm and almost died in the process?’

‘All of a sudden, the powerful got their filthy fucking hands on our assets, and instead of bending a few rules he bent over and let the UN take him up the ass like the coward he is. I didn’t even get a damn box of grapes at my bedside table while I was out.’

‘Did you tell him any of this? How you felt?’

‘What the _fuck_ else was I going to do? _Ignore_ it?’ he snapped, making you jolt a little. ‘I pulled assets out of places where I felt they’d be compromised, and what happened? I end up in a fucking disciplinary hearing after a four-day coma, that’s what. He kills half our staff, so I save a few of my own who are left behind and I'm the one who gets punished.’

It was significantly easier to point the finger at a division which didn't always follow the rules.

You finally placed your own mug down, deciding that you’d rather not risk spilling any of it across your lap. Gabriel was now on his feet, pacing out the stress he’d been needing to release for what appeared to be some time, and continued to loudly rant about various issues that had been coming to a head between himself and Jack, or himself and Overwatch generally.  
  
Reyes' dissolution was clear in his increasingly deafening tone. Any sarcasm and wit took a back seat while he allowed pain to spit forward. And then he huffed something important, crumpling forward with both forearms on the desk, his head in his hands, his venom spent.

_I'd do anything for a break. I just... after all he and I have been through together. I just want a fucking break._

Commander Reyes was exhausted, and largely ignored even by his overt colleagues, who had once treated him as an equal. Now, they avoided Blackwatch, and more specifically avoided him.  
  
In that moment, you had never seen Commander Reyes look so vulnerable. Politely, quietly, he asked for you to take your leave. You found yourself placing an awkwardly compassionate hand on one of his broad, strong shoulders, ready for him to reel again at the unwanted attention. Instead what you felt was him loosen slightly beneath your touch as he took it in one of his own. He was so warm. You blushed as he reciprocated the gesture.

'I-I'm here, Gabe. If ever you need someone,' you stammered.There was more. You knew there was more.

With a sigh he turned to you and smiled a soft, genuine smile. For someone so war-ravaged, in that moment he looked impossibly gentle, scars and all. Gabriel at present was worlds apart from the Gabriel who barked orders across Comms, sassed visiting figureheads and listened to blaring hardcore punk music when he wanted to be left alone. He murmured _thank you_ and added _don't forget your cocoa_. He squeezed your hand before letting go, returning to his seat, and you reluctantly stepped out of his office with him staring back into the screen as though nothing had happened.

How often was he in that office by himself these days?  
  


The rest of the day ran like clockwork, full of questions about your health but otherwise uneventful. Returning to your room later that evening, you considered what the Commander had told you. It was uncharacteristic how much he had disclosed, about himself and Jack in their younger years; how they had battled side-by-side, comforted one another through loss and pain, and now Reyes lived in his shadow and was allowing it to tear him apart. All of the strength he usually exuded had vanished in those unusual moments.

His mug sat empty on your bedside table, serving as a reminder that you needed to check in with him again.

McCree had popped his head through the door, cigarillo drooping from his mouth, and asked for an update, then left for his weekly piss-up at the bar. He reassured you that he would speak to Gabriel himself.

'Just not tonight. Will probably be too drunk to string a sentence together. Don't think he'd appreciate me comin' knockin' at his door at the early hours o' the mornin', neither,' he drawled, and went on his merry way.

Everyone approached pain differently, you supposed.

Even delving into a good book hadn't taken your mind off of that morning's encounter; Across the Nightingale Floor was a favourite of yours, approaching a century old. Usually solace was found within those pages, and within those of countless other books you'd collected during your service as a Blackwatch operative. Bur the more you caught yourself reading and re-reading sentences, the more you realised that your regular destresser wasn't all that impactful when it came to your Commander. Not tonight, at least.

This was maybe the third or fourth time you'd spoken to him on a personal level. It wasn't something you were particularly good at, although you had a decent sense for people. As an EMT, it was noted that you struggled to be outgoing, as sympathetic and compassionate as your care may have been. Gabriel had helped you to improve. He spoke to you when you were deliberately finding somewhere to hide from the world. You felt as though you owed him the effort, at least, to provide some comfort. After all, he had confided in you before anyone else.

Your phone buzzed and chimed. Was that really the time already? You opened up the message and was pleased to see it had been sent from Gabriel.

_Sorry about earlier. It’s a lot to have dumped on you like that. Maybe next time I can grill you for basketball news since I haven't been able to catch a game in a while._

Neither had you, admittedly, but at least basketball would be a considerably lighter topic. With a glioblastoma nestled snugly in the right side of your brain, having too much time on your hands was painfully frequent. Dropping by the office for more mugs of hot coca would be a welcome treat. You'd also be able to rub in the fact that the Lakers hadn't had a good run for some time, and that being British meant you could choose a team without state ties. He liked to complain about that aspect as if it were cheating.

Perhaps you could even pinch a few marshmallows from Jack. You were willing to bet he actually had some stashed away somewhere. You flicked off the bedside lamp, and your phone chimed again.

_Feel like I’ll sleep a little better tonight._


End file.
